Entering, she looked backwards into a dog’s eye

and saw God, or just an eye. He got glared

and hid outside amongst the dewing yews.

She looked shywards behind a screened scene

and thought she heard a bedevilled lie

beating in the heart of hymn’s sweet music.

She looked upwards at stained figures that told tales,

where she recognized distant divisions

clashing over the colour of light.

Once or twice, an unholy trinity

had gathered in the shadow of the archway’s font

and fought over baptism’s fire,

pitching a plunge into wounded confusion.

The silent, stone knights slept on, guardians of

a trapped, cold anger geared for a fight:

three swords sheathed in watchful, frozen repose.


Out walking, something flicked across her vision

and flecked her eye. Wilderness left distant,

she looked skywards to the tranquillity

of wisping clouds and spotted a silvery chain

of arcing duets, fleeting two by two.

She viewed the bathed landscape, as it lightened and blushed.

He art a caring muse, a friend, missed, misused.

The artist and the lark fused in a flicked prism

and, in the moment, dyed to evolve and live,

beyond a pursed world trapped in stark, granite finery

diminished by ornate words of withering judgement.

They brushed each other’s hued canvases

and feathers dipped and danced in life’s palette.

She stood weightless and distilled. And listened anew.

A found sound had sung and taken flight


and soared and soared and soared.